


in denial

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Partners, Beards (Facial Hair), Denial of Feelings, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Sex, Pogonophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Draco came back from holiday having apparently not shaved evenoncewhile he was gone, and Harry's life is ruined.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinktober 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948741
Comments: 43
Kudos: 347





	in denial

**Author's Note:**

> the october 22 prompt for kinktober 2020 is— _[pogonophilia](https://www.thebeardmag.com/features/articles/pogonophilia-what-is-it/#:~:text=Someone%20who%20has%20pogonophilia%20and,a%20man%20without%20a%20beard.)_.

This is all Ron’s fault.

Really, if he’d just kept his mouth _shut,_ Harry wouldn’t be sitting here in his office with half a boner for the fifth consecutive hour of the day. He wouldn’t be mumbling and blushing into his tea instead of having actual, coherent conversations with his partner now that he’s back from leave. He wouldn’t be _staring,_ for fuck’s sake. 

Draco probably thinks he’s touched in the head—he keeps shooting him odd looks, and Harry knows he already slipped off to question Robards about any cases Harry may have gone on alone while he was on holiday, probably asking if Harry had been Confunded or cursed and it slipped under the radar.

Harry hadn’t been. He was on desk duty the two weeks Draco was gone because he refuses to work with anyone else. He _had_ been looking forward to Draco coming back; had anticipated his rude, clever stories about his friends, and the people he met, and maybe if Harry was lucky a few about the people he slept with.

But no. Ron had to get drunk at Sunday brunch at the Burrow and start shouting about how Harry has a _crush_ on Draco, isn’t it _funny,_ he’s practically _in love with him_ and doesn’t even know, Hermione why are you pulling so hard, I’m not ready to go home yet—

And Harry had just sat there, like the giant oblivious _idiot_ he apparently was, as every interaction he’s had with Draco over the last year crashes over his head, forcing him to acknowledge that yes, his ( _former_ ) best friend was right, even if he was totally trollied on Molly’s viciously potent punch at the time.

Hermione had called to apologize for Ron later, but it was too late—Harry had laid in bed all evening, staring at the ceiling and wallowing in the fact that not only did Ron apparently know his own feelings better than he did, but _Draco comes back tomorrow_.

And it’s going just as badly as he could ever have predicted. Worse, even, because Draco had come back from his holiday in the south of Spain glowing and tan and smug and shagged and _with a beard,_ and Harry thinks he might just die, and this time he’s getting _right_ on that bloody train before anyone can talk him out of it.

Because, honestly. Draco Malfoy with a beard is not something Harry ever knew he wanted; but then, he didn’t know he wanted Draco _at all,_ before Ron’s appalling outburst yesterday, so who knows, really?

Harry’s never preferred bearded men before, though; ever since Ginny taught him the _Depilare_ spell in his eighth year, he’s preferred to keep _certain parts_ of himself hairless (and sometimes his legs, but that’s only occasionally, when he’s in a certain mood and happens to have just put fresh sheets on his bed; he knows why Ginny used to dive buck-naked into their bed on laundry days and roll around now, it feels _so good_ ), and his past experience with a five-o'clock shadow has been painful, and rashy, and not worth how nice it might make some jawlines look.

This isn’t some artfully sculpted stubble some club rat spent half an hour getting _just right_ before heading out for the night; no. This is a full beard, blonde shot through with red when the light is right (and Harry can’t even bring himself to tease Draco for that, he’s so astonished by it all), and it looks soft and well-tended, like Draco combs it through with expensive beard oil every day.

It probably smells like mint. Harry wants to press his face up against it to find out; wants to feel it against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs; wants to feel it against his arse as Draco’s tongue swirls around his—

“ _Harry_!”

Harry jumps and almost falls backwards in his chair. Bloody hell. He’s been daydreaming for Merlin only knows how long now, and worse, he’s fully hard. He scrambles upright and pulls himself as close to his desk as possible, hoping Draco hasn’t seen anything. “Er. Sorry, Draco, what?”

Draco is staring hard at him, then abruptly stands and marches over to Harry’s desk. He looms forward and, alarmed, Harry starts to move his chair back, before he remembers that’s not the best idea right now. Draco’s got his hand on Harry’s forehead now, though, and Harry can only freeze.

“You don’t _feel_ like you have a fever…” Draco muses, his pinky brushing over Harry’s fringe. Harry holds very, very still and wills his eyes to stay open; maybe if he keeps eye contact with Draco, he won’t look down and get an eyeful of Harry’s _predicament_. “And Robards swore that you’d been benched while I was out. But something is clearly…” He drops his eyes down over Harry’s body, and eventually down to his lap, and Harry closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable.

Draco presses down on his forehead, just briefly, just enough for Harry to know he’s seen it. “ _Well_. What have you been thinking about? And to think I haven’t even mentioned any of my _other_ adventures these last two weeks…” His voice is too close, and Harry squirms and _burns_ with what he now recognizes as jealousy combined with a need to know _more_ about what Draco finds desirable in a partner. Merlin, how long has this been going on?

He makes a small, despairing sound; tries to stop it, but it’s too late, and Draco’s tilting his chin up, and Harry opens his eyes to meet his fate.

Draco’s eyes are fixed on him, and Harry drowns in that stare, does his best not to whimper, isn’t sure he succeeds. “Harry?” Draco says, sounding perplexed and—hopeful?—and Harry can’t take it anymore, and half-stands from his chair and kisses Draco.

Draco’s unmoving, for just long enough that Harry starts to pull back, already composing his partner request form so Robards doesn’t argue but doesn’t ask for more detail, but then Draco grabs his shoulders, and pulls him all the way up, and backs him up against a wall, and proceeds to kiss him so thoroughly Harry’s seeing stars.

“You fucker,” Draco says, pulling himself away only to fasten his mouth to Harry’s neck. He’s gotten a thigh in between Harry’s leg, and Harry can feel Draco’s cock rubbing against his hip, and this is all going to be over very, very quickly. “I can’t _believe_ —you’re just sitting there hard and thinking about _me,_ bloody _fuck_ —” His beard is rubbing and scraping along Harry’s skin, and Harry arches his neck for more because _holy hell it feels good_.

“God, Draco,” he pants, thrusting against Draco’s leg and moaning at the friction through the fabric. It’s painful, too much, but if this is how he gets Draco, then by God he’s going to enjoy it.

As if reading his mind, Draco slows down, gentles the kiss, brings his hands to tangle in Harry’s curls and rubs his fingers along Harry’s scalp, coaxing a moan as Harry’s head falls back into the wall. “That’s it,” Draco whispers, running one of his hands down Harry’s torso and somehow managing to undo both their trousers in short order. A whisper later and his hand is slick, and he takes Harry in hand and begins to stroke.

Harry quickly gets with the picture; both his hands had found their way to Draco’s arse, but he repeats Draco’s whispered spell and wraps his hand around Draco’s cock in turn, syncing their rhythms as best he can when his vision is fuzzing and sparking along the edges. 

Draco is breathing harshly in his ear, his breath warm along Harry’s neck, and it’s that tiny moment of closeness, of intimacy, that pushes Harry over the edge, and he comes with a shout over Draco’s fist, burying his face in Draco’s shoulder to try and muffle himself.

He redoubles his speed over Draco’s cock, thumbing over the head on every pass, and just a few strokes later Draco’s coming too, hissing into Harry’s neck with just a hint of teeth that sets Harry shivering.

Harry closes his eyes and basks for a minute, then sends a cleaning spell over the both of them. Draco steps back and clears his throat, not meeting Harry’s eyes while he straightens his clothes out, and Harry can’t stop his chuckle as he does the same.

Draco’s eyes snap to his. “What?” he asks aggressively.

Harry shakes his head in wonder. “Just. Are you _embarrassed_? After all of _that_?”

Draco flushes and scratches his beard, and Harry’s knees go weak. Just a little bit. Just enough that he’s glad he’s still leaning against the wall. “I guess, just...I didn’t mean. For that to happen. So…” He shifts from foot to foot and glances nervously at their office door, which is firmly closed still.

“Draco,” Harry coos, stepping forward and running a finger down Draco’s chest. “Don’t be _shy_ now; not after you jumped me at _work_.”

Draco narrows his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder a little. “You’re a prat, you know,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling, and Harry feels something hot run through his chest.

Oh.

Smiling, he leans up and kisses Draco softly. “I think you should take me to dinner tonight,” he says as confidently as he can. “Somewhere nice. You can open doors for me, and pull out my chair. What do you think?”

Draco’s grin is toothy and—Harry thinks—besotted, but it turns into a wince as he looks Harry over. “What?” Harry asks, reaching up to fuss with his hair. “Is there...what is it?”

Reaching out, Draco runs his hand over Harry’s neck, and Harry hisses and jumps back at how sensitive his skin there is. “It, ah...well. You’ve got a bit of beard burn,” Draco says apologetically. “I know a spell to cover it, but it has to be healed with a cream; I have some at home if you want to stop by after work, and then I can shave—”

“No!” Harry yelps, and Draco stops and raises an eyebrow. “No, er. Just. No need to shave! I’ll come over for that cream; in fact, why don’t we just leave, it’s already three and you know Robards always starts drinking on Mondays after that interdepartmental meeting, he’ll never notice if we’re gone—what do you say?” He’s babbling, he knows, and Draco’s looking more and more amused with every word.

“Do you _like_ my beard, Harry?” he asks, and Harry can feel himself going as red as stupid, _stupid_ Ron’s hair.

“Shut up!”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://bonesliketambourines.tumblr.com/post/632906350407630848/kinktober-day-22-in-denial).


End file.
